


If You're At the Top

by heyamber



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Assistant Derek, Fame fic, Ficlet, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Musician Stiles, POV Derek, Recreational Drug Use, Stiles Stilinski/Matt Daehler - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4130467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyamber/pseuds/heyamber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale doesn't know what to do with Stiles Stilinski.</p><p>He's the picture of perfection to the public. But here, he's just Stiles. Without designer suits and screaming fans and flashing cameras and bright smiles, but he's still everything.</p><p>And he was dripping chocolate sauce down the front of his shirt while he talked animatedly in a diner booth in the middle of Georgia.</p><p>And Derek doesn't know what to do with him.</p><p>*Edited & Updated*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> 9k fame drabble. I'm currently writing a story on ff and this little plot bunny kept bouncing around in my head. I couldn't focus until I let it out, so here it is. Stiles & Derek are somewhat OOC. Enjoy!
> 
> Very brief mention of major character drug use.

**2015 | Macon, Georgia**

Derek Hale doesn't know what to do with Stiles Stilinski.

He just doesn't.

He didn't know what he was getting himself into when he agreed to be his assistant.

Stiles is the music industry’s newest sensation, a twenty-five year old crooner from Beacon Hills, California with a honey smooth voice and mole dotted skin. He's been in the media his entire life, from Star Search at age eleven to releasing two self produced EPs in his late teens. There was American Idol when he was fourteen, booted off in favor of a songbird soprano (who decided a year later that fame was too much and took to being a recluse). He spent years posting covers on YouTube, gaining a following and collaborating with other artists, before entering the YouTube Super Bowl competition where he beat out thousands of entertainers for a chance to perform a solo set at the halftime show.

He tried his hand at acting for awhile, taking small recurring guest roles on daytime television and a minor part in a Marvel movie before eventually going back to his first passion. He was picked up by NewMuse Records at twenty-two and had spent the last two and a half years touring the world and promoting his music.

And he'd made it. He was everything everyone wanted to be, and inspired young musicians to pursue their dreams because they could very well end up like him, just a California kid with a dream and the hustle to carry him to the stars.

He'd graced magazine covers and featured on tracks with countless artists, his songs were on repeat on Top 40 radio and he'd just recently sold out a world tour.

He was it. Interviewers would scramble to get a word in with him at award shows and red carpet events, bulbs flashing blindingly bright across his flawlessly tousled hair and whatever designer he was promoting that evening.

The world was his oyster. He was everything he'd ever dreamed he could be.

And he was dripping chocolate sauce down the front of his shirt while he rambled on about Star Wars at a diner in the middle of Georgia

“Then he comes on screen and I’m like, am I the only one who sees how completely suspicious this guy is? Obviously-”

"Stiles, you're spilling on yourself," Derek points to the stain on his shirt, fighting back a laugh. It’s not something he makes a habit of doing in public, laughing.

"Shit," Stiles swears, lunging for the stack of flimsy napkins on the table and dipping them into Derek's ice water.

Derek glares. The Glarek, as Stiles likes to call it.

He's the picture of perfection to the public. But here, in this booth, he's just Stiles.

Without designer suits and screaming fans and flashing cameras and bright smiles, but he's still everything.

And Derek doesn't know what to do with him.

"You could've warned me, asshole."

The noise Derek makes starts off as a snort and morphs into a laugh.

"And miss you try to lick food off of your own clothes? No way in hell."

Stiles glares back at him briefly before bursting into laughter himself, peeling the damp white shirt away from his chest. Derek can't help but stare at his now visible pecs. Stiles is cut. He falls on the leaner side, but he's perfectly pronounced in all the right places. Abs and biceps and forearms galore. And those hands, god.

Derek can't help but notice his gaze linger on Stiles' hands clutching at himself.

"You're such a perv. I didn't do this for you to get a free show," he chides, but doesn't make a move to cover whatever the wet t-shirt is now exposing.

This is something they do sometimes. Flirt when no one's around to catch them, poke fun at each other and make out, occasionally.

* * *

 On the tour bus, things are quiet. Derek is browsing 8tracks playlists ( _Yes, I know what 8tracks is, Stiles, I’m only a couple of years older than you_ ) when the bus sways and Stiles bumps into him.

"Sorry," he mutters, "I need a Pop-Tart in my life, like, yesterday. Hey, do you think Whataburger will let the bus in the drive-thru? "

"Jackson is gonna kill you," Derek says by way of greeting.

Stiles straightens up and waves him off, "What Jackson doesn't know won't hurt him. Plus, it's my cheat day."

Derek glances at his watch, "Your cheat day was officially over fifteen minutes ago."

He stands to put the Pop-Tarts back on the back of the shelf, his six foot one frame swaying against Stiles’s even six feet as the bus moves along the highway. Even though Stiles is tall, Derek’s obnoxiously one inch taller and he uses it to his advantage.

"Oh my god dude, I'm over by fifteen minutes. Let me have the box!"

"No," Derek says, pulling out two string cheeses from the fridge beside him. "You'd only be cheating yourself after all the hard work you've done."

"We've done," Stiles corrects, reluctantly plucking one of the cheese sticks from his hand. "It's technically your cheat day now. You could eat a Pop-Tart and explain the flavors to me in great detail."

Derek rolls his eyes and flops back down into the couch. "I'm not wasting my Thursday on a Poptart. Just because you wasted your sugar quota doesn't mean you can use mine too. Go away."

Jackson had originally given them the same cheat day, until he found out they'd eat nothing but sour candy (for Stiles) and red meat (for Derek). He forced them to take different days so they couldn't talk each other into "food spiraling", as he liked to call it.

Stiles just pouts and slumps next to him, letting his head fall to Derek's shoulder.

A whole minute of sweet, sweet silence passes before Stiles is buzzing again.

Stiles has always dealt with his hyperactivity. Being the only child to a single father who also happens to be the Sheriff makes for a troublesome combination. Stiles was always in some kind of trouble, running amok with his best friend Scott and slipping through his dad's fingers everytime he was supposed to be disciplined. Until his sixth grade music class, when he became obsessed with learning how to read music. He'd begged his dad to let him take guitar lessons, to which his dad only agreed on the condition that his shenanigans stopped.

Fourteen years later, turns out that bargain had worked out in both the Stilinski men's favor.

Every once in awhile Derek can see the bits of Stiles' personality that were molded by that kid's ADHD. Most days Derek can handle it, seems to be the only one who does. But some days he gets tired.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Trying to listen to something other than the crap music the label makes you put on the radio."

"Woah, hold on, I thought you loved my music?” Stiles gapes, clearly affronted.

“There’s only so much repeat I can take. You’ve been promoting this album for almost a year. Its getting old.”

“How do you think I feel? I’m the one who has to perform it day in and day out. I have literally sung my songs in my sleep, Derek. I woke up humming _Endless Beat_ last week so shut the fuck up.”

“I’m Stiles. I’m a rock star, my life is so hard,” Derek grumbles and Stiles shoves him, yanking the earbud from Derek's ear before he has a chance to protest. Not that Derek would have but the point is that he could have.

“You have the shittiest taste in music," Stiles says after two songs. Again, not that Derek is complaining. Any chance to be closer to a Stiles who also happens to be stationary? Few and far between.

"It’s eclectic,” Derek defends, pushing Stiles away. “I've got connections to this band, I went to college with them.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows amusedly. "Oh really? Their all classical renditions of pop songs are fascinating."

"This isn’t their best stuff. Stop complaining or I won’t introduce you when the time comes. I’ll pretend that I don’t know you.”

“Like you’d last a second without me, Hale," Stiles smirks, kicking at Derek's feet before his attention is caught elsewhere.

"Want to hear the song I've been working on?" he asks as he bounds off the couch to the back of the bus to fetch his guitar. When he comes back he settles on the ground opposite Derek and starts to pluck at the strings.

"It's really rough, but I couldn't get these lyrics out of my head so just bear with me," he prefaces, starting in with a slow, soft melody.

Derek watches him thoughtfully, impressed by the way Stiles can take simple lyrics and make them so meaningful.

"It's really good," he says before Stiles even asks for criticism. He forgets sometimes that before the Hollywood buzz and the overproduced pop/rock tracks, he was a genuine musician. "You should go back to playing more music like this. This is better than all the other shit out there."

Stiles smiles appreciatively in lieu of a response and launches into effortless runs, strumming a faster tune.

"Show off," Derek says, but there's no fire behind his words. Stiles is amazing, he knows, he always has been. His voice is smooth and powerful and perfect and –

"You coming to bed?" Stiles asks, his guitar in one hand, the other hand extended to Derek.

Derek lets himself be dragged to the back of the bus to Stiles’ bedroom. The covers are still askew from the morning and the tv is way too bright but it's more comfortable than his bunk.

This isn't the first time Stiles has asked Derek to bed with him. Aside from the last few days, it doesn't happen often, especially when the others are around. Everyone is taking a few weeks off while Stiles starts off the first dates of his radio tour. It's the first time they've been alone in ages, and to say they've been taking full advantage of it is an understatement.

As soon as Derek is on the bed Stiles is straddling him, capturing his lips, his hands in Derek's hair.

"I've literally been waiting to get you alone all day."

"You say literally too much."

"Oh my god, shut up, not the point," Stiles smiles against his lips.

For once, Derek actually listens. 

* * *

 

“I’m dying,” Stiles wheezes, “call my dad. Tell him I love him.”

“Get your ass back on the treadmill, Stilinski!” Jackson yells from the computer screen across the room. Stiles’ nutritionist insists on scheduling virtual training sessions for him on a weekly basis. This session is taking place at a private gym in Charleston, South Carolina, which doesn’t matter because Stiles hates working out anywhere.

On the bright side, it overlooks the beach.

“Damnit Stiles, just get back on so he’ll shut up,” Derek growls from the next machine over. Because somehow Stiles had talked him into training with Jackson, too, and now they both have to suffer. Though Derek has to admit that the working out isn’t as torturous as listening to Stiles complain for four and a half hours every week.

Stiles smirks at Derek’s words. “You know, I remember telling myself the same thing about you.”

Derek just glares, and Stiles holds up his hands in surrender.

“You can’t leave a sex joke out there and expect me to let it pass. You know that I’m way too immature for that.”

“Stilinski!” Jackson yells again, because Stiles isn’t even trying to pretend like he’s getting back on the machine.

Stiles ignores him. “Speaking of ‘getting on’, what are the chances that I get to board the S.S. Hale tonight?”

Jackson mutters what Stiles would like to think is an affectionate _gross_ , because they’ve known each other since grade school and either one of them having knowledge of the other’s sex life is way beyond TMI. Plus Jackson is a dick.

Derek tries to steel his expression against the innuendo but Stiles’ eyebrows are doing something ridiculous and it causes a sense of fondness to bubble within him.

“I’d say your chances are pretty low if Jackson makes us run another mile because you won’t get your ass back in gear.”

Jackson is their trainer from hell, Stiles' tour manager's best friend's boyfriend. And Stiles' best friend's girlfriend's best friend's boyfriend. God, what a mouthful. Just thinking about the group dynamics gives him a headache.

“STILINSKI!”

“OKAY!” Stiles yells back, powering the treadmill up to a whopping 2.3 mph.

They can hear Jackson sigh tiredly, “Why do you book the sessions if you’re not going to cooperate?”

“It hurts,” Stiles draws out, “and with you as a trainer there are literal sweat and tears involved.”

“I bet I can think of a few ways to make you sweat that I’m sure you won’t mind,” Derek says casually.

Stiles falters and trips on his own feet.

* * *

_**2012 | Spencer, New York** _

_“Derek.”_

_“Erica?”_

_“Why is Stiles Stilinski standing in my living room?”_

_“Because...I brought him?”_

_“Why would you bring Stiles Stilinski to my house without telling me? You didn’t give me enough time to mentally prepare. Take him away, I need to get myself together!”_

_“Too late. I’ll introduce you,” Derek laughs, pushing Erica through the kitchen and back to where Stiles and his older sister, Laura, are smashing their competition in beer pong against some of Erica’s college friends, drunkenly muttering to each other and hunching over in laughter. Stiles eyes are shiny and bright when he turns to Derek calling his name._

_He wraps Erica in a hug after they’re introduced, like they’ve been friends forever. Eventually Erica brings Isaac over and soon enough there’s a small group of Derek’s closest friends looming around Stiles, hung on his every word and movement._

_Derek uses the opportunity to run to the bathroom. Stiles is used to being alone with new people. Thrives at it even._

_The guest bathroom is locked, there’s light leaking out from underneath the door. Derek tries the master in Erica’s room next, stumbling blindly past piles of clothes and furniture corners to the en suite. He squints as the light from flipping the switch fills the room._

_He can hear the sound of someone else fumbling in the room, the sound of someone swearing and saying_ you’re so heavy _before all goes quiet again._

_When he comes out he sees Stiles lying face down on the bed in the middle of the room, humming softly to himself in what is most likely a drunken stupor._

_“You ok?” Derek asks from his spot in the doorway. Stiles turns hastily, eyes narrowed to protect against the light surrounding Derek._

_“‘M great. Did you know your sister is a world class beer pong goddess? Can you even be a beer pong goddess? Maybe she’s just a normal goddess. Her...everything is just…” Stiles makes swirly gestures in the air before his hand drops back to the mattress._

_“She’s dating someone.”_

_Stiles just groans and flops around on the mattress._

_“God damn you Hales and your god damn irresistible allure. All of you guys just fuck with my head.” After a beat of silence Stiles speaks up again, “You’re a goddess, too, you know.”_

_Derek snorts and flops on the bed next to him, “Thanks. No one’s ever called me a goddess.”_

_“You know what I mean. You’re hot. And sexy. And an asshole with a sense of humor, which is like, my kryptonite.”_

_Derek’s heart speeds up at his words but he does his best to ignore it. “You should, uh, probably not fall asleep at Erica’s house. You’ll wake up with dicks drawn all over your face. Come on, let’s get you back to the house.”_

_Stiles whines and burrows deeper into the tangle of blankets. “But I’m comfortable.”_

_“Trust me, my bed is much more comfortable,” Derek says, eyes widening as he realizes his words. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I wasn’t trying to hit on you.”_

_“What if I wanted you to?” Stiles asks, turning to face Derek. “What if I wanted you to try hitting on me?”_

_There goes Derek's heart again, ignoring all the signals within him that are saying DO NOT ENTER._

_“I could do that.”_

_“As a friend doing another friend a favor or . . . as something else?”_

_“Either,” Derek swallows as Stiles begins to approach him._

_“And what if I only wanted it as something else?”_

_“It can be that, too,” he whispers._

_Derek is taken off guard when Stiles leans in to meet his lips. It’s a soft and slow kiss, tentative almost. Once he shakes the first initials moments of shock he’s deepening the kiss, his hands finding a home on Stiles face and neck, pulling him closer. Stiles lets out a soft sound and pulls back, much to Derek’s disappointment. He laughs and leans his forehead on Derek’s shoulder._

_“I’m sorry. I don’t do this kind of thing.”_

_Derek goes rigid, horror flashing on his features. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought - fuck, I’m sorry Stiles. I don’t know what I was thinking. It’s just that you were here and leaning on me and I mistook it for -”_

_“Dude, no. Not that,” Stiles shushes, covering Derek’s rambling mouth with his hand. “I definitely do this, and I definitely want to do it with you but I don’t do this when I’m drunk.”_

_“Oh! Right, yeah, of course. Thats probably for the best.”_

_“Tomorrow, though,” Stiles leans in to kiss him and whispers it like it’s a promise._

_“Tomorrow,” Derek nods._

_The next day, Stiles makes good on his promise, and the next day after that. They don’t talk about what they’re doing, they just do it. There’s no over-analyzing or labels, just the two of them and the knowledge that for the time being, they’re happy._

* * *

 

"Deaton, can we please stop at the Steak Shack?" Stiles pleads to the bus driver, everyone else groaning in protest.

"If we stop at even one more place we're gonna fall behind schedule," Allison says, looking up from her Sudoku to level Derek with a glare that says don't you dare let him talk you into this.

"We'll be fine," Derek says tentatively, internally preening at the smile that his words cause to grow on Stiles' face.

"What Derek says, goes. He's acting manager after all," Stiles quips, pulling on his coat while everyone follows suit.

The Steak Shack wasn't the first place he'd made them stop. Just this week alone they'd hit the nation's biggest cheese wheel, an actual needle in a haystack hunt, a corn maze that had gotten them lost for an hour, and two petting zoos.

"I'm a good American guy supporting small business," he smiles at everyone, pulling Derek down the steps of the bus with him.

He somehow talks Derek into an eating contest to see which of them can eat the most tofu steak without throwing up. Derek loses of course, because he hates tofu ( _It's not real food, Stiles_ ). It only takes a few bites before he's dry heaving in the bathroom, Stiles standing behind him laughing.

"You're evil," Derek chokes out, which only causes Stiles to laugh harder.

"That's what you get for beating me at JustDance5 on national TV last week."

He coughs and sputters again before speaking, "Next time don't make me compete against you on national television."

Stiles cuffs him on the back of the head and he smiles through a mouthful of spit.

Tofu, what the fuck.

* * *

 

"You're drunk," Stiles smiles amusedly because yeah, he's totally gone. This is why they shouldn't stock minibars with alcohol. Obviously if the company is paying for it, Derek and Stiles are drinking all of it.

And they did, which is why Derek's currently butchering a rendition of _Take Me To Church_ while Stiles is doubled over in laughter.

" _I'm_ definitely drunk," Stiles grins, swaying on his feet. He clutches Derek's sides and pulls him closer.

"I fucking love you," he declares. "Who the hell else would opt to stay in and get drunk with me instead of going out with everyone else?"

"Me," Derek points to himself gleefully, the love comment completely slipping by his inebriated senses. Alcohol and Derek mix very well, which is one of Stiles' favorite things. Drunk Derek = relaxed Derek. He smiles more freely and laughs at things for no reason when he's drunk and Stiles loves it.

"You," he smiles lightly, leaning in to kiss him. Derek melts into it immediately, because this is his favorite part. The stolen kisses and subtle touches are fun, thrilling even, because it shows that whatever this is is something that belongs to just them.

But this - getting to explore each other without restriction - is the best.

"What are you doing?" Derek mumbles against his lips as Stiles' hands fly to his jeans. Stiles is demanding, he'll give him that. He knows what he wants and Derek is more than happy to give it to him.

But this isn't normally what they do. When they're drunk, they make out and they rub things but the way Stiles is pulling at his clothes lets him know that this isn't one of those times.

They've talked about this, how Stiles doesn't like feeling out of control or having sex when he's drunk because he probably won't remember. He doesn't want this to be something Stiles regrets.

"Wait," he says as Stiles cups him through his boxer briefs. "We're drunk. I don't want you to be upset with me tomorrow."

"I won't be mad at you," Stiles says between kisses to his neck that make the little hairs stand up. "I want to."

That's all it takes to shut Derek up.

* * *

 

_2014 | Los Angeles, California_

_Harris drops a photos on his desk in front of the two men sitting before him. Derek looks more closely, notices that it’s a photo of he and Stiles in New York City, making out against the wall behind a bar._

_He glances at Stiles to see that he’s gone completely still, staring at Harris with narrowed eyes._

_Harris glares at the both of them._

_“Care to explain this?”_

_Stiles leans forward like he’s examining the picture. “Looks like we’re making out in an alley.”_

_“Exactly,” Harris says. “Why the hell are you two making out in an alley in the middle of New York City? Do you want to get yourselves blasted all over the media?”_

_“I didn't know it was something that I had to hide. I’m out, everyone knows that, what’s the big deal?”_

_“The big deal is that this is a disaster waiting to happen.”_

_“I don’t understand,” Derek says._

_“If the media catches wind of this, they’ll tear you apart. Say goodbye to your privacy, Derek, because dating a rock star is as good as being a rock star yourself. Do you know how bad it looks to the public when an artist is dating they’re assistant? They’ll say that Stiles is slumming, that Derek’s a gold digger, that it’s a publicity stunt, all of the above. People will start rumors, the media will exploit you, Stiles’ reputation gets tanked, both of your professionalism will be questioned. If people find out that you two are boyfriends while you’re working together, your careers are as good as over.”_

_“We’re not boyfriends,” Derek says. Stiles shoots him a look that he can’t decipher, but that seems to have done the trick because Harris is smiling._

_“Perfect,” he says. “You two are allowed to fuck whoever the hell you want, just don’t let it get caught on camera. That means nothing in public, not even places that you think are secure. Unless you two are behind closed doors, you don’t know each other past a professional level. Got it?”_

_“Got it,” Derek mumbles._

_Stiles stays unnervingly quiet._

* * *

The tour is spectacular, bigger than anything Stiles has ever done. Even now, six shows in, the fans still go crazy, the stadium shakes before he's even out on stage and the sound is deafening.

"I don’t believe it," Derek says, listening to the sounds from Stiles' dressing room.

They're cramped into the tiny dressing room where Stiles is making snapchats and freaking unsuspecting fans out by tweeting at them to pass the last few minutes before his call time. Usually by now they'd be groping at each other, but today is different. There's been a weird vibe between them all day. Stiles has been jumpy and twitchy and overall just very strange. Derek just chalks it up to one of Stiles' lows and leaves it at that.

"Dude, it's crazy right? I will never get over hearing people chant my name," Stiles says.

Derek shakes his head, "No, not that. I can't believe this many people actually think you're cool."

Stiles glowers at him.

"You think I’m cool."

"I beg to differ," Derek smiles, chancing a grab for Stiles hand and pulling him closer. The split between who initiates contact first is fairly even. While Stiles is all grabby hands and bruising kisses, Derek goes for tentative touches and gentle guiding. Maybe it has something to do with their ages. Stiles is young, younger than Derek at least, and there’s an eagerness in him that isn’t as concentrated in Derek. Derek has the confidence, Stiles has the passion, and it’s an explosive combination.

But from the look on Stiles’ face, Derek’s touches aren’t wanted today.

"So, there’s this thing that I’ve kind of been meaning to talk to you about," Stiles starts, holding a hand to Derek’s chest and pushing away lightly.

Derek proceeds with caution. He hates it when Stiles hedges his words. Usually, if Stiles has something to say, he'll blurt it out. If he has something bad to say, then he'll hedge, and this is definitely the sound of a hedge coming on.

"What?"

"It's stupid, really. It's all the label's doing. Something about unifying our demographics and blah blah blah," Stiles fiddles with his hands, refusing to look at Derek.

"Spit it out, Stiles."

Stiles rushes through a sentence that Derek isn't quite sure he’s heard correctly.

"Did you say you're kind of dating Matt Daehler?" he asks frustratedly.

This was their time, the few minutes every day right before the show, when Stiles goes to his dressing room to "focus", and he chooses now to drop this on him?

"I mean the label "encouraged" Matt and I to say that we're dating, you know, for appearances. It's dumb and it's really just to build a buzz around us and the label but, I don't know. I wanted to know what you thought about it,” He finishes, his wide, sporadic hand gestures slowing down.

The silence that passes between them is only a few seconds, but it seems to stretch on forever.

"Ok,” Derek says guardedly.

The look on Stiles face is indecipherable, "Ok?”

“You should do it,” Derek says, “The label suggested it for a reason, right?”

Stiles shrugs again, “I don't know, I guess. Technically I'm pretend dating Matt, but it's like, official according to the press, and I don't want it to cause any problems. We - what we're doing - you deserve better than what I can give you right now. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Derek says, careful to keep his face and voice even. "We can’t go public, but the label wants you to have someone. And they think that you dating Matt - "

"Right. It's technically only for appearances, but I can't afford to let a love triangle tank everything I've worked for. If anything about us accidentally gets out to any of Matt’s people then it'll be this whole shit storm that I literally can't afford right now."

Derek swallows and lets his words sink in.

"I wanted to talk to you about it earlier but I didn't know how to bring it up.”

“It’s fine,” Derek starts, unknowingly putting distance between himself and Stiles. He doesn’t realize that he’s stepped back until his brain registers Stiles stepping towards him.

“Fuck, Der, I don't want you to think that this is like, a breakup or something because I know we’re not like that but the hooking up just...has to be put on hold for a while."

It makes sense when he thinks about it. While Stiles had a following of pop/rock lovers, Matt's fans were House and EDM die-hards. They'd make groundbreaking, albeit shallow, hits and dominate the charts.

"No, I - I get it. When did this happen?"

Stiles rubs at his forehead, "A few weeks ago. You were visiting New York the week that we met up with everyone."

Derek nods slowly, vaguely recalling the texts Stiles sent him about a label meeting. He'd been bar hopping with his friends at the time so it's all a little fuzzy.

"While you were gone we started hanging out. Turns out he's a pretty cool guy. I like him and he likes me so we're giving it the good ol' college try," he jokes.

"You never went to college," Derek deflects, hoping Stiles won't see that he's devastated.

Because, sure, they weren't official. They never put a label on what they were doing, but they were there for each other. It's not like rock stars can just date anyone, and Derek had been there for him. He let Stiles flirt and touch and kiss him however he wanted because he wanted it, too.

It was never said out loud but it always felt like they were working up to something.

Apparently they weren't, because now Stiles is with Matt and Derek hates how that makes him feel. Hates that he can give so much to Stiles over the course of a few years and have it all be swept under the rug for convenience.

"No, but I can’t say that I regret that,” Stiles punches him lightly in the arm. "You don't hate me do you?"

"No," he says robotically, remembering too late to smile. It comes off forced and unnatural. "I'm happy for you. It's all part of the whole...thing, right? You're living the dream."

"Yeah, sure. Thanks," Stiles sighs, jumping slightly at the pounding on the door.

"Showtime!" Allison calls.

"Showtime," Stiles repeats. 

* * *

“Why are you putting makeup on me? I’m gonna sweat it off anyway" Stiles calls into the mass of bodies huddling around, primping and prepping final touches to his face and hair, while others are adjusting his mic and in-ears. This is only the tenth show on the tour and Derek can tell he's already frustrated with the team that is constantly hovering around him.

Though, admittedly, he's more of a little shit today than he normally is. Maybe it's the long hours cramped on the bus, or the complete lack of privacy, or the fact that he's been away from his ~~fake~~ boyfriend for so long. Derek does his best to be around Stiles at all times to keep him occupied and distracted from all of that, despite whatever's pointedly not going on between them at the moment.

It's his job to give Stiles the dose of reality his manager seems to think he needs. It's why Derek was hired in the first place.

Stiles' entire team had been made up of older people, well beyond his age. They were all seasoned industry professionals, but it left little time for him to connect with people his own age. Enter Derek, the hopeful young new grad with dreams of becoming an A&R rep.

Derek had been working for the current rep when Stiles's manager had spotted him walking to the elevators.

_"You," he yelled, pointing at Derek. Derek swirled around and pointed to himself when he noticed the lack of other people around them._

_"Yes, you," the guy (who he later finds out is named Harris) barked, "how old are you?"_

_"Uh...twenty-three?"_

_"Is that a question?" Harris mocks._

_"No, sir. It's an answer. I'm twenty-three," Derek says._

_"Perfect," Harris smiles to Derek's boss (Greenberg)._

_"I'll take him."_

_"Take me where?" Derek gulps._

_"To Stiles, duh. He needs an assistant. You know how to run errands, right?"_

_"Right," he nods, "I run tons of the, all the time. Well not tons of them, I'm new to the city –"_

_"Stop talking. You're coming with me. G, you're down an assistant. I suggest finding a replacement."_

_"But you can't do that!" Greenberg yells after him._

_"I just did. Come on kid," Harris says, grabbing Derek's arm and dragging him out the glass doors at the front of the building. He's crowded into a car and taken to a recording studio the next city over._

_"When you say Stiles, do you mean Stiles Stilinski?"_

_"The very same. Why? You're not gonna be weird around him, right?"_

_"No, not at all. I just...don't exactly understand why…"_

_"He needs an assistant. One that's closer to his own age, to do his bidding and to keep him company. He can be . . . a lot to handle. Can you do that?"_  
_Despite himself, Derek's face breaks into a smile, "Be an assistant to Stiles Stilinski. I think I can handle it."_

_His sisters were going to flip when they found out._

_"Perfect. And bring it down a notch, you're coming off creepy," Harris warns, frowning. The smile immediately drops from Derek's face and is replaced by a scowl._

_"Ok, now you look like you're going to murder him. Just be normal," Harris sighs, pulling the corners of Derek's mouth up so his lips are in a straight line._

_"There," he puffs, "natural."_

Three years after that car ride, they're here. Eventually Harris had taken to developing other artists, asking Derek to go on the road full time as Stiles’ manager for the world tour. He still checks in regularly because Stiles is his cash cow, but Derek has taken to dealing with day to day necessities, not that either of them mind.

Despite the fame and the recognition and even the money (Jesus, the money) they’ve stayed the same.

But the way he's been acting lately has been weird, even weirder than it should be in their case.

"Derek?" a voice draws around him. He snaps back to awareness to see that it's Stiles addressing him.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Dude, seriously? You’ve been hovering over me all day and now that I need you you’re not even paying attention,” Stiles snaps. “Do you know where my phone is?"

Derek stares at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. Stiles' eyes are downcast, playing over the waist of his...whatever type of pants his stylist has him wearing (jeans, bottoms, trousers, Derek doesn't know…).

"No, I don’t know. I didn’t see where you left it. Is everything ok?" he asks as he reached for Stiles, concern written on his face.

"Jesus, can you just give me some space?" Stiles says, pushing through the small huddle. Everyone takes a step back and their pitying gazes fall to Derek before he walks away.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek Hale doesn't know what to do with Stiles Stilinski.
> 
> He's the picture of perfection to the public. But here, he's just Stiles. Without designer suits and screaming fans and flashing cameras and bright smiles, but he's still everything.
> 
> And he was dripping chocolate sauce down the front of his shirt while he talked animatedly in a diner booth in the middle of Georgia.
> 
> And Derek doesn't know what to do with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9k fame drabble. I'm currently writing a story on ff and this little plot bunny kept bouncing around in my head. I couldn't focus until I let it out, so here it is. Stiles & Derek are somewhat OOC. Enjoy!
> 
> Very brief mention of major character drug use.

  
The set is great, Stiles puts on an amazing show. He hits his newly added guitar riff perfectly without missing a beat, and if Derek weren't pissed at him he would be totally blown away.

Well, he's blown away regardless but still pissed at him, which doesn't even matter because Stiles doesn't give him the chance to show it.

He ices everyone out as soon as he steps off stage, shuts himself in his dressing room until the crowd outside has died down, and rushes to the busses at the end of the night.

The door to his section of the bus is shut by the time Derek makes it back that night.

Two days later, he finally slinks out of whatever dark hole of depression he's been in and deigns to grace everyone with his presence.

"Hey," he says through a yawn as Derek answers the door to his hotel room.

Usually when they stop somewhere, Derek and Stiles automatically gravitate to one room. This is the first time in months that they've stayed at a hotel and haven't woken up next to each other in bed.

Stiles' voice is rough from sleep and his hair is mussed from bed. They're stopped in San Antonio for two shows a few days apart so the label put everyone up at a hotel.

"Hey," Derek responds, eyes never leaving his phone screen. Since the "space" incident he's been giving exactly as much time to Stiles as needed. No more, no less.

"Wanna grab breakfast?"

"I already ate with everyone. You're the last one," he informs.

"Oh, ok. Nevermind then," Stiles sighs, looking around the massive hallway before deciding to try a direction and stick with it.

He jumps slightly at the sound of the door slamming behind him.

* * *

"Derek, grab these last three cases will you?" the lead tech guy requests, nodding to the black boxes sitting on the slick asphalt. Boyd had been on crew since the beginning of the world tour but Derek has only recently got acquainted with him when he started spending most of his downtime on the crew bus, away from Stiles and Allison and the rest of the band on the main bus.

Derek nods towards Boyd and silently starts toting the gear to the bus undercarriage. They just wrapped the Oklahoma City show.

Stiles is standing there when he comes back around, biting at his nails and pacing.

"What's wrong?" Derek asks, despite himself. Yes, he's completely in his feelings right now and ignoring Stiles but he still cares, ok?

"Nothing," Stiles says limply. "I think Allison wants to know when you're planning on coming back to the bus."

"Allison wants to know?" Derek cocks an eyebrow.

Stiles nods, "Mhmm."

He's bullshitting him and they both know it.

"I'm gonna try to swing it on the crew bus again tonight if I can."

"No, yeah, of course," Stiles says, turning toward the lead bus, rethinking it, and turning to face Derek again. "Are you ok?"

"I'm good. Just trying to make sure everything is done," Derek bites out. "Did you need something?"

Stiles hesitates briefly before answering.

"Nope."

"Ok, then. I'll see you tomorrow," Derek says, grabbing the last case to load and trudging to the bus without a glance back. 

* * *

"You're gonna have to talk to me sometime," Stiles says the next week as they're waiting for the radio show in Phoenix to start.

"We're talking now," Derek says simply, suddenly very interested in the ten unanswered texts from his family.

"I'm talking now, you're just brooding all over everything."

Derek clenches his fist around the phone, "We’re not doing this right now, you're about to go on the radio."

"The station can wait."

Derek laughs at that, "No, it can't. It's my job to make sure you show up to these things. Harris put me in charge for a reason."

Derek glances at Stiles only to see him scowling.

“Whatever,” he says glumly, sinking down into his seat.

A few more minutes of silence and Stiles bouncing his knee passes before he’s speaking up again.

“Can you just tell me what you’re pissed about so I can stop pretending that I didn't notice that you’ve barely said a word to me lately?"

“Stiles, stop.”

“Derek,  _please_.”

“Leave it alone. You wanted your space so I’m trying to give it to you.”

"Oh my god, dude, wait. Is this about what I said at the show?" Stiles cries, arms flailing.

Derek silently feigns confusion.

They both know perfectly well what he means.

"A while back, the hovering comment I made before I went on. You never called me out on it so I didn't think you cared."

"You were being an asshole that day," Derek reasons after a beat. "And the day after, and the day after that. I was giving you what you asked for.”

"You ignored me for two weeks."

“I wasn’t ignoring you, you told me to back off. There’s only one way that can be interpreted.”

Stiles grins knowingly. "Don't bullshit me Hale, I know you better than anyone. Usually when I'm a little shit to you, you call me out on it."

Which is true.Derek takes pleasure in calling Stiles out on his shit. It's part of what they do and it's one of his favorite things about their dynamic.

"It’s not really my place anymore," Derek says tightly and Stiles frowns.

"Dude, no - " Stiles starts but Derek keeps talking.

"I just didn't want bother you, and after you told me to back off I did, because you were like...grrr," Derek mimes an animal with fangs, complete with a growl.

Stiles barks in laughter momentarily before the smile falls from his face, "Yeah...it wasn't a great week for me. Oh, and I played that song for Matt, the one I showed you, and he hated it. He said it was "whiny". And Harris was there too, at the label with Matt. They both hated it and basically told me to stick it where the sun don't shine."

He laughs bitterly, humorlessly.

"I - I'm sorry. I didn't know," Derek apologizes. "I hate that you don't get creative freedom."

Stiles shrugs and smiles sadly, "Small price, right?"

"No one should tell you what kind of music to make," Derek all but growls.

"Its whatever, that's another issue altogether. Look, I'm really sorry, ok? I took it out on you because I needed someone to be pissed at and you stepped up to the plate. I was a being a dick. And it fucking sucks not having you on the bus.”

"Fine," he says, the corner of his lips tugging upward. "But if you pull that shit again then I'm throwing you off the bus while it’s moving."

"Stiles, you're on in a few. Get in here," someone calls before Stiles can form a reply.

"Go," Derek urges, pushing him towards the door a little more roughly than necessary. "I do not need a call from Harris bitching me out about you being late to your interview."

* * *

Matt and his team meet up with them for the Vancouver show a couple weeks later. Derek hates to admit it, but Matt seems to make Stiles happy so he puts up with the guy's general douchebaggery.

Like his fashion forward haircut (more appropriately dubbed "dagger bangs" by everyone on tour) and his incessant need to remind everyone of how much money he has.

Oh. And there's the thing where he insults Derek every chance he gets.

"So, where are you from again, Derek?" Matt asks loudly one night over sushi. He had demanded that the restaurant be shut down for the two crews, but it was still busy with how many people they'd brought.

"I'm originally from Spencer, New York but I went to school in Michigan and then I moved out to L.A. when I got the NewMuse gig."

"What's Spencer? Isn't that like...a really small town?"

"Yeah, it's pretty small, which is why I had to get out, but it's home. There's no place like it."

"So what do you think a small town guy like you is gonna accomplish in the big city?"

"Eventually I'd like to do A&R, but the company put me on tour with Stiles so I've been been with him basically since I started. One day I'd like to go back but right now it's too much fun," he says, throwing a smile to Stiles that he returns easily.

"Surely you don't want to be Stiles's lap dog for the rest of your life," Matt kisses his teeth, looking intently at him.

"Dude!" Stiles cries, arms swinging, "He's not my lap dog."

"He's your assistant, Stiles. There's hardly a difference. You're his boss."

"Interim manager, and I'm his best friend," he corrects smugly, as if it's an honor that Derek chose him as a best friend and not the other way around.

Because Derek will always be the first to tell you that he'd gotten pretty lucky. He was picked out of obscurity to be the sidekick to a pop star. He got to travel for free, experience all the things the world and the music business had to offer, and network with industry giants all while getting paid to hang out with his best friend.

He was the lucky one here.

"It's just kind of pathetic is all," Matt scoffs, and something in Derek crumbles. Because he's almost right. He doesn't downright ask Stiles for money but...he's pretty much been living off of NewMuse's tab for years. They pay him a salary on top of paying for everything that involves Stiles, like airplane tickets and hotel stays, even wardrobe. They pay for everything. Whatever he makes goes to paying his rent and student loans and helping out his parents. That was it. Work perks, he would always tell himself. At most, he keeps Stiles's schedule and makes sure he shows up to events, sets up his appointments and runs errands for him (he's been on so many lube runs that it isn't even embarrassing anymore). He makes sure Stiles doesn’t hurt himself while working out or cut his hair too short or get caught up in any debauched scandals.

But it was easy, because even if Stiles weren't famous Derek would still want to be involved in his life.

So yes, he was lucky. And maybe a moocher in the loosest sense of the word but he worked hard and he loved his job, damnit. And he loves Stiles, and that's enough for him.

So Matt Daehler can suck it.

"Matt, stop it," Stiles warns, tone hard and cold.

"I'm just saying, be a man and do a man's job. Don't just follow a famous person around–"

"Matt!" Stiles calls loudly.

Matt holds his hands up and stops the words from falling from his lips. He looks around bemusedly, as if he doesn't know what he's done to make dinner uncomfortable. Everyone at the table is shifting their eyes and clearing their throats, looking for any excuse to act like they're not paying attention.

"Sorry, babe. He's your assistant, I shouldn't talk to him like that," Matt shoots Stiles a pathetic look before turning to Derek. "Sorry, man, I'm just trying to look out for him. Boyfriend duties and all that."

The way he emphasizes the word boyfriend makes Derek want to hurl.

"Right," Derek says stiffly, jaw set in a hard line.

Stiles shoots him an apologetic look that makes him mad.

Not that Derek needs defending, but is Stiles really one to let a guy talk to his friends like that?

He uses every ounce of restraint he has not to roll his eyes at the table and finishes the Alaska roll in front of him. The chatter picks back up at the mention of the call sheet for the week and everything is forgotten.

Stiles stumbles onto the bus four hours later with sex hair and serious case of stubble burn. Seeing Stiles like this after being with someone that wasn’t him makes Derek’s heart hurt in all the wrong places.

"Ouch," Derek says when he sees him and he smiles, totally uninhibited. "Need some ice for that? I can see it in the dark."

"Fuck off," he laughs, pushing at him. "It's only one in the morning, it'll be gone by the time I wake up."

"So your night went well I take it?"

Stiles’ smile is goofy as he falls onto the bed at the back of the bus.

"It went well enough.”

He makes sure to fake a laugh at that, causing it to ring out a little louder than normal, "It had to be better than mine. I spent half an hour sorting out the bill with that old asian lady at the restaurant. Then I came back here and helped Allison plan  
your schedule for next month."

“Thank you.”

Derek’s breath catches in his throat.

"It's my job." Derek says.

"No, not just for that but for, like, everything. For keeping me on track, for keeping me grounded. You take care of me. You're like...my lighthouse, you know?" Stiles ends with a heartfelt whisper.

Derek smiles down at him, enchanted by his honey brown eyes and upturned nose and he remembers why he does what he does. He remembers that the long hours and the grueling press schedule and the constant flack from the studio to do this and do that is worth it, because it makes Stiles happy.

 _It's because I fucking love you_ , is what he wants to say.

"It's what I'm here for, Stiles," he says instead, squeezing his hand. His ridiculously warm hand.

And then he spots it.

"Your nose is bleeding," he grabs a tissue to shove in Stiles' direction. Stiles just laughs and rolls over, wiping at the dribble.

"Damn! I used to get these terrible nosebleeds when I was a kid if the weather changed too much. Guess all the traveling must've triggered it."

Now that Derek thinks about it, Stiles is acting strange. Overly giggly, burning up to the touch, a nosebleed.

"Let me see your eyes," Derek grabs his face and turns on the overhead lamp above the bed.

Stiles pupils are blown wide open.

"Are you fucking high right now?" Derek seethes.

"Maybe a little," Stiles cackles, holding up two fingers to show exactly how much a little is.

"What the fuck, Stiles? What did you take? Did Matt give you something?"

"Yeeeaaaaah," he draws out, shaking with laughter. "Relax, it was just a tiiiny smidge of coke."

"I'm gonna fucking kill him," Derek growls. He can handle Matt being a raging asshole, but he will not put up with him rubbing this shit off on Stiles. He refuses to let him go down that path.

* * *

"Look who it is guys, the mooch himself," Matt calls when he sees Derek standing in the door of his dressing room the next night.

Derek wastes no time in cutting a fist across his face.

"What the fuck, asshole?" Matt screams, holding his nose.

Derek crowds his space and pushes him roughly against the wall before they're fighting. It's hard to keep his bearings with everyone in the room grabbing him, but he gets a few good shots in before he lets himself be pulled away and pinned to the wall by Matt's guys.

"You know what that was for. Stay the fuck away from him," Derek scowls.

Matt just laughs.

"Oh really? You're telling me to stay away from my boyfriend?" he asks as he swings one punch to Derek's jaw, connecting with crack.

He drops another punch to Derek's gut, causing him to double over with a groan.

"I should sue you for all your worth for hitting me. My face alone is insured for half a million dollars," he smirks.

"I don't give a shit about your face. Come near him again and they won't even be able to recognize you after I'm done," he growls.

"Aww," Matt snickers, and everyone else laughs. "That's so sweet. You actually care about him."

He steps closer to Derek and lowers his voice.

"Thing is, he's my meal ticket. So stop running around trying to be a hero, and back the fuck off. I don't give a shit about him, I just need him to get me to the top, and then you can do whatever you want with him. Twinks like him never make it far in this business anyway. You can have him when he's just some washed up wannabe."

When the guys drop him, Derek slides to the floor and clutches his stomach. They eye him menacingly as they leave, and he can hear Matt's manager in the hallway asking what the hell happened as he squeezes his eyes shut.

This is bad. 

* * *

 "Oh my god, Derek, what the hell happened to you?" Allison rushes at him. He bats her away with one hand and heads for the busses.

"Hey, hold up!" she tries again, grabbing his arm. She takes in his swelling eye and jaw and the hand he's holding to his stomach. "What the fuck?"

"Got into a fight," he grounds out. He tries to shoot her a smile but his face is stinging. Matt hits like a bitch, considering two guys were holding him down and that's the only damage he managed to inflict.

Her eyes go wide, "Over what? Wait, with who?"

He shakes his head, "Don't worry about it. Go back to the show, I'll be on the bus."

"Derek, stop. What the hell is this?"

"It's nothing, go. I'm fine."

"Put some ice on that," she warns, pointing to his face as she retreats.

He nods as earnestly as he can and trudges back to the bus. Of course there's no ice, so he settles for one of Stiles's Spider-Man popsicles and waits.

He's shaken awake by her a couple of hours later. She's in his face, pulling away the now melted juice.

 "I told you to put ice on it, you ding dong, not ice cream," she chuckles lightly, hissing as she sees the darkening eye. She pulls out a frozen water bottle and wraps it in a hand towel before offering it to him.

They sit in silence and listen to the sounds of the crew packing up around them.

"I saw Matt," she says quietly, a smirk playing on her features. "He looks worse than you."

"Good," Derek croaks, not even trying to hide the fact that Matt was the other person in the fight.

"What happened?" Allison asks softly, adjusting the water bottle to rest on his jaw.

"Stiles came back high last night," he says, her eyes widening at his words. "He told me that after dinner that that's what they were doing. We were in here trying to run his career and that asshole is out there ruining it."

"Shit," she mutters. "I mean, I've heard that Matt uses but I didn't think that Stiles would go for it. He didn't even like the guy at first so I figured he'd be ok. Stand his ground and what not."

"Yeah, well he didn't," Derek spits, his hands curling into fists.

"Can't we just talk to Stiles about it? I mean, it's you. He always listens to you," she says, gingerly unballing his hands.

"How am I supposed to convince Stiles that his boyfriend is using him?"

"If it were me, I'd believe it. This is showbiz, everyone's got an angle."

Derek scoffs at that, "And what if it were Scott?”

Allison grimaces, because they both know the answer to that. "That's different. I know Scott, and you couldn't tell me anything about him that I didn't already know because that's what happens when you love someone. Stiles doesn't love this guy. He barely even knows this guy. But you and Stiles - no one could say a word against Stiles around you, and I'm pretty sure he feels the same way. If Matt's trying to get into his head and use him, it's not going to work. Trust me." 

* * *

 "What the hell did you do?" Stiles stomps onto the bus the next morning.

"Good morning to you, too," Derek says, buttering the last of his english muffin.

 Stiles ignores him, "Why the hell is Matt's manager calling me asking why I let my assistant punch him in the face?"

"Why do you think, Stiles?" He frowns, because he doesn't understand how Stiles can be mad at him. "I was trying to protect you."

 "Protect me from what?" Stiles asks incredulously.

 "From him! He's going to lead you down a terrible path, and what you saw was me telling him to stay the hell away from you."

"Since when do you have the right to tell people to stay away from me?"

"Wha- you're mad at me?"

 "You didn't have to punch the guy," Stiles retorts. "Kind of makes you look like the asshole here."

 "How am I the asshole when he's the one who had you doing coke for fun. You came home high last night, your nose was bleeding and you were fucked out. He dropped you off like that and he just left."

 "I was fine. Look at me, I'm fine. You're being dramatic."

 "So you don't want me to tell you what he said last night, then?"

 "Derek, stop," Stiles yells over him.

Derek uses every ounce of self restraint he possesses to contain anger and fumes at the floor quietly.

"I can't do this. I can't keep - we can't do this. I can’t have this kind of thing happen between you guys. You’re my best friend, Der. I need you to be on my side."

“I’m on your side. I’ve always been on your side, which is why I’m trying to tell you that this guy is bad news.”

“He’s not as bad as you’re making him out to be.”

Derek's eyes widen, “Why the hell are you defending him? You know he’s a shitty person and you’re letting yourself be sucked into his fucked up, self-absorbed vortex.”

“Do you honestly think I don’t know that? You think that I don’t fucking hate having to pretend to be into him? That it doesn’t kill me to have to keep my distance from you?”

“Who are you pretending for, Stiles? No one expects anything from the two of you.”

“The thing is that they do, though," Stiles laughs bitterly. "Everyone is expecting something, and it’s my job to give it to them. I’m an entertainer, ok? It’s what I do. I stopped living my life for me a long time ago.”

“How can you be ok with this?”

"This is my career, Derek, this is how I survive," Stiles says frustratedly, hands tugging through his hair. "This is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do with my life. I didn't go to college like you so there's nothing out there for me. There's no plan B. This is it, and I have to do whatever it takes to make it work. Even if it means pretending to date Matt Daehler."

Derek's eyes never leave that spot on the ground a few feet in front of him. "I can't just watch him use you, Stiles."

"Fine," his voice shakes. "You're fired."

Derek’s eyes snap to Stiles, green meeting brown, "Damnit, don't do this. Don't let this guy consume you. You've known him for, what, a few months?"

"Maybe, but at least he knows where I'm coming from. He's doing the whole music thing so he gets it. I told you that I'm not gonna let a stupid love triangle take down everything I've worked for, and that's what's gonna happen unless I end it right now, so you're fired."

A beat of silence passes between them as Derek tries to catch his breath.

"So that's it then?"

"That's it," Stiles confirms, nods with finality.

"Fine," Derek says after a few moments, brushing past him. "If you’re not going to fight for yourself then neither am I. But you have to know that you're too good to fall for this crap, Stiles."

"Damnit, Derek, stop" he squeezes his eyes shut, "Stop looking out of me when I'm trying to make you leave."

Derek grasps his shoulders, "Even though - just because I'm not going to be on this bus doesn't mean I'm gonna stop caring about you. You're talented and you're going places, with or without NewMuse telling you what to do." Stiles tries to shake his head and Derek shakes him.

"Just remember that they didn't make you. You're the one who put in all of this work, who spent hours with a voice coach and convinced two million people to watch you on YouTube. You're the one who rearranged the music for all those covers and hand wrote every single song on those EPs. That was you, Stiles, before NewMuse. You don't need drugs and you don't need a fake relationship. Don't forget that."

* * *

“Derek, get down or I will literally murder you,” Laura hisses at him. They’re at the grocery store in Spencer, hiding out from Laura’s ex boyfriend who is perusing the frozen vegetable section across the way.

After leaving the tour Derek had decided to go home for an indefinite amount of time. He’d been fortunate enough to have a job where the pay allowed him to save enough money over the few years to have a cushion for hard times, and Derek planned on using it. He’d spent the last three to four years running around the world, refusing to leave roots anywhere. For once, he was going to let himself settle down for more than a few weeks.

They were in search of a decent bottle of champagne to celebrate his homecoming, which is how they ended up running into Laura’s ex, Derek and Cora doubled over in laughter at Laura’s attempt to be sleuth.

“I can’t breathe,” his younger sister rasps to him. At Laura’s insistence they’re huddled together behind the produce stand and snickering to themselves. Well, Derek and Cora are snickering. Laura is mostly scowling.

“I thought you guys were fine. You were together the last time I was here,” he says, recalling the last time he’d seen Josh glued to her side.

“Things change, Derek, obviously. It wasn’t meant to be. Is he looking over here?”

Cora turns just in time to see Josh leaving the store. She and Derek exchange a look.

“He’s gone,” Cora says. Laura breathes a sigh of relief before ducking around the corner to check for herself. Her younger siblings have yet to stop cackling.

“I hate both of you.”

“Don’t get mad at us, you’re the thirty year old who hides from her ex behind the stack of cantaloupe.”

Laura shoots him a smirk, “Right, says the twenty seven year old who flies clear across the country to hide from his ex.”

Derek shoots her a glare.

“I’m not hiding, I’m visiting. And Stiles is not my ex.”

“You totally are, and he totally is,” Cora chimes in.

“I hate you both,” he says flatly.

Cora throws her arm around both of her older siblings, “That’s no way to talk to your only two sisters, Der. You love us. Now about this champagne…”

They spend the rest of the night drinking on the balcony and watching the stars. When they wake up the next day they have lunch with their parents at the pizzeria and drive to Laura’s apartment in the city. It’s a four hour drive full of catching up and inside jokes, punctuated by badly sung 90’s music and the odd text message.

One of which comes from none other than one Stiles Stilinski.

“Is there a reason Stiles is texting me asking about you?” Laura swivels to stare expectantly at Derek from her spot in the passengers seat ( _Cora has to drive to make up the years of rides to little league she got from us, Der_ ).

“Beats me,” he responds, not looking up from his phone.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

Laura and Cora exchange a look and scoff simultaneously.

Derek’s expression is confused, “What?”

Cora chuckles as she says, “You don’t expect anyone to believe that you suddenly just up and left the guy you’ve been following around the world for the last few years because nothing happened.”

“I do, because it’s the truth.”

Laura turns back to Derek and sighs.

“You’re allowed to have feelings. You know that, right?”

“He has feelings, he just doesn’t express them.”

“What she said,” Derek adds, pointing to Cora.

Laura heaves a sigh and turns back to him. “You know, I love you, but you are the biggest idiot I’ve ever met.”

“Love you too,” Derek quips.

* * *

Derek loves where he is. He loves that he’s been able to build a life and a reputation in L.A., but there’s nothing like being back in New York.

“I should’ve been a lawyer,” he says just as Laura pushes into the apartment she’s renting in Manhattan. It’s all dark wood flooring and white furniture and stainless steel appliances. Cora brushes past him to settle on the couch like she’s been there a million times before. It makes him sad to think that she has, that his sisters have gotten to spend so much time together without him.

“Der, don’t get bummed out. You’re not smart enough to be a lawyer,” Laura smirks at him, bumping him affectionately before padding over to what he assumes is the master bedroom.

Derek and Cora spend the next two days at Laura’s place, eating from every chinese restaurant within delivery distance and frequenting all of Laura’s haunts from her undergrad days. When they’re not together, Laura is working and Cora is studying for her graduate degree at Columbia.

Derek spends his free time working out and looking for jobs and scouring the city for apartments, because once he got the idea in his head that he’s home, there’s no convincing him otherwise. He finds anything to focus on that will keep Stiles out of his mind.

It takes a little less than a month to find a place to live that’s suitable. Laura and Cora freak out about him moving back, and his mom, Talia, drives out so she can help put furniture in his home that doesn’t immediately scream homeless manboy. His apartment is probably the third of the size of Laura’s, but it fits him and he loves it.

When he’s settled he falls into his routine. He goes to the 24 Hour Fitness on 3rd street every other day and spends his nights making friends with anyone who he vibes with.

A month and a half back in New York finds him at an interview with Modern World Music.

"So Mr. Hale, it says here that you were with a NewMuse artist for almost four years. Why leave that field of work? It's a cushy job, especially with such a reputable label," the man across the table asks.

Derek has been interviewing in record labels across the city, hoping to catch a break anywhere.

It's nice of this guy to act like he doesn't know who Derek is, like he hadn’t seen the tabloids that were blowing up a story about how Matt's broken nose was grounds for prosecution. Derek's name has been splashed in magazine after magazine, where pictures of him at Stiles's shows are connected to pictures of Matt and Stiles leaving dinner or walking his dogs or working out together.

His personal favorite headline had been _Daehler forgives boyfriend's old assistant for unwarranted assault._

"I'm hoping to get into Artist & Repertoire, sir. There's only so much you can do as an assistant, and I feel that I've learned everything I could in that position. Three years is a significant amount of time."

"That it is. So what are you bringing to the table? Why should I hire you?"

"Nowadays social media has a wealth of talented artists that go unnoticed, and I'd like to tap into that source. I've spent four years meeting artists and learning the business, I know the ropes, and I've built the connections. Now all I need is somewhere to apply what I've learned, and this is a great opportunity to do that. I'll spend every hour of my time working to bring the best undiscovered artists out there to Modern World Music."

The man considers him for a moment before asking, "You're not gonna punch anyone, are you?"

"No sir," Derek lets out a laugh, and the man reaches across to shake his hand.

* * *

Before he knows it, it’s been six months and he’s hasn’t thought about Stiles much.

Maybe, like, once a day but that’s a win in Derek’s book.

Six months after leaving tour, he's sitting in his office, contemplating the consequences of planting a life sized Ninja Turtle action figure that he found on Ebay on his new neighbor's doorstep.

He'd probably get cursed out and kicked onto the street, but it would be totally worth it to see the look on the guy's face.

"Hey, you got a sec?" his co-worker pops his head into the office.

"Depends on who's asking," Derek mumbles, scanning the web page for shipping information. Shipping a thing that size would have to be at least a hundred bucks.

"Stiles Stilinski is asking," Ethan says, an amused smirk on his face. Not that Derek can see that, because he's too focused on Stiles, who's standing behind Ethan.

"Can I come in?" Stiles asks tentatively.

Derek nods and swiftly pulls up a chair for him. Ethan leaves with a snort, mumbling about the new guy getting all the action.

"What are you doing here?" he asks slowly, taking Stiles in. He looks the exact same, which is good considering it's been less than a year since they've seen one another.

"I heard that they hired some new guy at MWM awhile ago, but I didn't realize it was you until they started talking about all of these YouTube artists popping up mainstream."

There's a glint in his eye and a smile on his face, like he approves of what Derek's been doing. At least Derek'd like to think so.

He doesn't know what to say to Stiles though, because it's been months and they haven't exchanged so much as one word. Because the last time they saw each other Stiles was firing him and telling him to stop sticking his nose in places it doesn't belong.

"And a little birdie might've told me that you got hired here," Stiles goes on.

 _Allison_.

Derek had been keeping tabs on Stiles through her all this time. Now he realizes that it had probably gone both ways.

"You been asking about me, Stiles?" Only the edge of his mouth tips up in an attempt to keep his expression neutral.

"Maybe," Stiles says cooly.

They share a smile for a long time until Stiles speaks up again.

"You know I don’t apologize, right?”

“Stiles,” Derek rolls his eyes and stands to shoo him out, not knowing why he agreed to even talk to Stiles about things if he was just going to be a dick about it.

“Ok, no, sorry, that came out wrong,” Stile says, holding up his hands as if to stop Derek from moving. “I meant to say - sit down, would you? I’m trying to say that I’m shit at apologizing but - I wanted to apologize to you. For everything I said and the way I handled it. You're were being a good friend and I was too stubborn to see that," he trails off.

When Derek doesn't respond he continues.

“I was pissed, you know? When we first got together you told Harris we weren’t boyfriends. I was pissed that we’d been hooking up for two years and you’d never even so much as thought to ask what I wanted out of our relationship. You seemed happy to just leave it hidden and that pissed me off because I wanted us to have more than that. I wanted dates in public where everyone could see, and to change my facebook status and meet your family as your boyfriend.”

“You never said anything, I thought -”

“Can I just - get this out? Before you say anything?” Stiles pleads, and Derek nods silently, earnestly, because he’s already absolutely enraptured in whatever Stiles is about to say.

Stiles takes a deep breath and continues, “When they asked me to pretend to date Matt I didn’t want to. I told them I’d think on it, but then I told you and you didn't even fight it. You let me go that easily, like what we had didn't mean anything to you. And I was pissed, so I stayed with him . . .for way too long. And I thought that maybe if I loosened up a little bit I’d be ok with it, you know?”

“Stiles - “

“God, Derek, with you, it’s just so fucking easy. I never wanted to be under any kind of influence because I wanted to remember every second of that I spend with you, but- with him, I wanted to make sure that I forgot everything. I only wanted to have those memories with you.”

Silence fills the room as Derek’s mind works in overdrive to make sense of what Stiles has told him. In the end, all he can come up with is, “For someone who doesn’t apologize much you’re not doing a terrible job so far.”

“Trust me, I’ve been practicing that for a good six months,” Stiles says, wringing his hands.

Derek wants to say that's ok and leave it at that, but then Stiles wouldn't know how badly it had affected him. Sure, he'd landed on his feet but emotionally, he wasn't all there.

He decides on a thanks instead, and, "I'm sorry for being an intruding asshole."

Stiles throws his head back with laughter, "You weren't even close to being an intruding asshole. As soon as you stepped off that bus I realized that I'd made a mistake, but my pride kept me away."

Derek nods understandingly.

"I shouldn't have just left you to fend for yourself. I kept in contact with everyone and I made sure to check on you but I shouldn't have left-"

"I kicked you out," Stiles cuts him off. "What were you supposed to do? I didn't want you there at the time, and you needed to get out, explore the business. It was a good thing, in the end."

"It was," Derek nods along with him.

"Besides, that little pep talk you gave me was the kick in the ass I needed. It took me a couple of months to work up my courage but I managed to fight for some of my creative freedoms. I don't have complete control yet but it's better."

"I'm really glad to hear that."

"And I broke up with Matt."

"Thank God," Derek exhales dramatically, earning an eye roll from Stiles.

"Stop. You already knew I was coming back to you," Stiles says, opting to vacate his seat in favor of the corner of Derek's desk.

"A guy can hope," Derek smirks, letting Stiles crowd him.

"Shut up," he says lightly, leaning down for a kiss that Derek gladly accepts.

He feels Stiles freeze for a second before he opens his eyes to see him staring at Derek's computer screen.

"Life sized Ninja Turtle action figure?"

"It's for a prank...for my neighbor."

Stiles looks at him amusedly for a second before plopping down in Derek's lap, saying _oh hell yeah_ and clicking the submit button.

"This guy's gonna hate us," he laughs.

Derek had never missed a sound so badly in his life.


End file.
